


Trip

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We dug around in Merle’s baggie.  Found some pretty heavy duty painkillers, couple of other things that might help.  You’re just starting to feel the effects.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt "booby trap"
> 
> * * *

Bright light.

Daryl squints against it, winces when it pierces his skull anyway, bounces around in his brain like lightning. Solar eclipse? He tries to lift a hand to his eyes to make sure those special glasses they gave out in school are still in place; doesn’t even want to think about what’ll happen to him if the old man finds out he looked at the sun without those glasses. Not even Ma could save him from that beating. The motion causes something to pull in his chest and he gasps, suddenly breathless.

“He’s awake.”

The voice is familiar, and in one eye-blink to the next it comes to him. He ain’t in Roscoe no more; the old man is dead, Ma long gone to who knows where, and the home place is just a dot on a map and a bad memory. He’s in Senoia now, or nearabouts, and on the road. On the road because there are walkers--

“Don’t move.”

Daryl isn’t actually aware that he’d started to move until Glenn’s hand comes down gently on his chest, presses him back into the thin mattress. He struggles to open his eyes, squints again until the blinding light resolves itself into the glow from a coleman lantern, flickering off the walls of the cabin. His eyes flick to the two men at his bedside, Glenn worrying his bottom lip the way he does, sitting close to him even though the mattress on the damn cot is barely big enough for one. And Rick, standing next to Glenn, scrubbing a hand over his beard, looking anxious, looking older now than he did yesterday and the day before. And Daryl remembers now: walkers doggin’ them for days on end, so many that he had to stick with the group to defend ‘em and food runnin’ low, no time to hunt, stopping at a run-down group of cabins back in the sticks but walkers, they don’t stop--

“Daryl, I said—“

“All right,” Daryl says, flinging out an arm, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest the way he ignored all the other pains that came before it. “Quit fussin’.” 

It sounds grumpy even to his ears, but it works, ‘cause the kid stops messing with him and leaves him alone. Shoots him a pissed off look too, but Daryl’d rather have Glenn ticked off with him than bein’ all fretful any day of the week. ‘Sides, he can make it up to him later. He licks his lips, tries to focus. “What the hell happened?”

He sees Rick give Glenn a side-glance that he don’t like the look of. 

“You don’t remember?” Rick asks.

Daryl closes his eyes, tries to think. Whatever it was, it must’ve been bad if fuckin’ _Glenn_ has the strength to hold him down. His head hurts like a motherfucker, but vague memories come back. Driving into town, the lone general store already ransacked to shit. Deciding to raid the houses on the strip, hoping somebody had to leave quick enough that they left some kind of food behind. Then – pain. He opens his eyes quickly before the spinning in his head makes him puke. “There was an explosion?”

“Tripwire,” Rick says. “Who knows why. Maybe the homeowner thought there’d be looting, figured on protecting his property. But he didn’t know what he was doing. The entire wall came down.”

“Stupid son of a bitch.”

“Can’t disagree with you there,” Rick says. “The noise brought in the walkers, droves of ‘em, comin’ from all over. We barely made it out.”

“You saved Maggie’s life,” Glenn says. “You turned around and pushed her out of the way. That’s why you took the brunt of it. If you hadn’t…”

Glenn looks away and Daryl shrugs, studies his hands atop the thin blanket. He tries to remember, tries to picture Maggie’s face as he turns to her, maybe her mouth open in surprise. He tries to remember Glenn – was he near the blast, on the other side of the house, where? Did he worry about Glenn at all, think about him as the wall came down? But he can’t see it, can’t even remember what the damn house looked like. And his fingers twitching at the edge of the coverlet seem to be moving in slow motion. 

“Don’t feel too good,” he says. Tries to say, but the words are suddenly slurring in his dry mouth, his tongue like mush. 

Glenn’s hand is warm on his arm. “We dug around in Merle’s baggie. Found some pretty heavy duty painkillers, couple of other things that might help. You’re just starting to feel the effects.”

“You can’t dope me up! The walkers—“

“If walkers show up, we’ll handle it,” Rick says. “You need to rest.”

* * *

When Daryl’s eyes flutter closed, Glenn lets out a shaky sigh.

Rick juts his chin toward the other side of the room. There isn’t much privacy to be had in the cabin. Okay, there’s absolutely no privacy to be had – the place barely fits one tiny camp bed and a rusted out sink, and Glenn can’t believe people actually paid good money to “get back to nature” in a dive like this. But there’s no way in hell he’s leaving the room. He watches the steady rise and fall of Daryl’s chest for another moment before he gets up from the cot and moves with Rick a few feet away.

“What do you think?”

Rick scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Near as Hershel can tell he has a couple of broken ribs, probably has a concussion. He oughta take it easy for a day or two at least—“

“But we’ve gotta move out in the morning,” Glenn finishes.

“Got not choice, it’s not safe here.” 

Glenn knows he’s right. The walkers seem to be getting more aggressive, their rapidly rotting bodies masking a renewed vigour that makes them harder to avoid, more difficult to kill. And the herd is the norm now, not the exception, lone walkers more and more rare as the weeks go by. They have to leave. 

He deliberately doesn’t look at the cot, but he’s never mastered the poker face. 

Rick lays a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll load him up in the back of Carol’s Cherokee, it’s got the most room. We’ll try to take it slow—“

“He’ll never leave the bike behind.”

“He may have to—“

“Ain’t leavin’ the damn bike,” Daryl calls out.

Glenn blinks, carefully schools his face into an expression of annoyance before as he turns back to Daryl. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Was never no good at doin’ what I’m told,” Daryl slurs. “Ain’t leavin’ the bike.”

“Fine.”

“Jus’ tape me up, I can ride it.”

“I said fine, we’ll bring the bike,” Glenn repeats loudly. When Rick puts a hand on his arm, he shrugs apologetically and lowers his voice. “If worse comes to worse, I’ll ride it. I can’t get any more banged up than he already is.”

“You love that bike, anyway,” Daryl says. “Said it makes me look…” He frowns, face twisted in concentration.

“Daryl—“

“Badass!” Daryl crows triumphantly.

“I think it’s safe to assume that the medication is working,” Rick says dryly.

Glenn rolls his eyes. 

He watches Daryl’s eyes slip closed again before he looks away. Rubs a hand through his greasy hair and makes a face, thinks longingly of the little stream a half mile back. He and Daryl’d planned to steal away there tonight, after the supply run, strip down and scrub the grime of days on the road off their skin. Daryl had smirked, joked that Glenn just wanted to see him naked, and Glenn had reminded him that he sees him naked every damn night, and there’d been tussling and groping and strong arms wrapped around him. And then the supply run, and Glenn had taken the rear into the house, and he thinks now that that might have been the last time he’d ever spoken to Daryl, held him, kissed him. That every day might be the last time.

He blinks and sets his jaw, stares out the little window into the dark.

“Glenn! C’mere! Got somethin’ to tell ya.”

Rick winces. “Daryl, you got to keep your voice down.”

Daryl nods. “Right. Walkers,” he says loudly. “Glenn!”

When Rick shoots him an exasperated look, Glenn steps quickly to the cot. “Daryl, you need to sleep,” he says firmly.

“C’mere!”

“I _am_ here,” Glenn says. When Daryl waves a hand, Glenn sighs and leans closer. “What?” he asks irritably.

Daryl’s hand tangles in his shirt, twisting in the fabric. “Jus’ ‘cause I’m all laid up with busted ribs an’ shit, don’t think this means you’re toppin’ anytime soon,” Daryl stage-whispers. “Your ass is mine.”

Glenn’s pretty sure he can feel the blush start in his toes and work its way to his face in about a millisecond. Daryl just grins at him smugly, smoothes at his shirt awkwardly before releasing him so he can stand up and turn around. To face Rick. Because of course this happens when they have an audience.

“Um,” he says.

Rick looks entirely too amused. “None of my business,” he says.

“No, Rick, it’s just—“

Rick raises his hands in the air as he does a quick about-face, and yeah, he’s definitely laughing. He closes the door quietly on his way out, and Glenn’s pretty sure that if he stopped by Rick and Lori’s cabin in about five minutes and stood outside the window, he’d hear Lori laughing just as softly.

Glenn hangs his head. He turns to give Daryl his best glare, only to find that the medication has finally taken effect. Daryl’s mouth hangs open, one hand curled on a chest that’s rising and falling rhythmically.

Glenn sighs. “Sure,” he says, “ _now_ you sleep.”


End file.
